Things Left Unsaid
by Trinitas
Summary: "There're clearly questions we should be asking that have nothing to do with getting married." Suppose the proposal scene ending S5's "Saviors" had gone differently? Past Chase/Cameron; House/Chase friendship/mentorship.


**Things Left Unsaid**

He stands there in the locker room, still seething from everything that's gone wrong between them in the last two days. Discovers that the whole damned mess started because she found the engagement ring in with his socks.

For a moment he's relieved: it wasn't about House, wasn't that she's found someone else she'd rather be with or that she doesn't care—

Except.

What does it say about their relationship that she couldn't just _tell_ him what was wrong in the first place? What does it say that her response to seeing his frustration and hurt was to avoid him?

Her eyes are teary, and part of him is tempted to let it go, chalk it up to upset from the past week and propose anyway, even if his planned setting and time and all the rest has gone to hell. He can easily call what's happened an isolated incident.

But four years with House have made him too good at spotting patterns, and when he's angry enough to see a list of symptoms spanning two years, he can't deny this one anymore. Not when he's got to admit the possibility that this is how she'd deal with every problem they ever have after marriage.

The idea of going through the past forty-eight hours again (failed attempts at communication on his part, evasion on hers and then fighting) at intervals for the rest of his life—

No. Enough is enough.

"It doesn't matter," he says, shaking his head. "This—that I can think you care more about House than me after two years together; that you can keep brushing me off—there's a bigger problem than your freaking out about finding a ring in a drawer."

She holds his gaze. "I didn't want you to propose because—"

"Right. Kutner committed suicide and it put me in such a romantic mood I couldn't help myself." Normally he'd care about the sharp edge in his tone, but right now he just feels like he's bitten his tongue one too many times. "Cameron. If you don't know by now I wouldn't propose out of—some mad desire to cling—there're clearly questions we should be asking that have nothing to do with getting married."

"So now you want to break up? Just because I didn't want to talk to you for two days?"

"You don't usually want to talk to me," he points out, "and it's reasonable to assume my putting a ring on your finger wouldn't change that." He shakes his head. "I've been telling myself that sooner or later, we'd get through all these disagreements and learn to talk, or you'd learn to trust me, or we'd get to know each other well enough that this sort of thing wouldn't keep happening. None of that's happened." A bitter laugh. "House is right: people don't change."

Her expression is incredulous. "You're taking relationship advice from _House_? The man whose idea of a romantic evening is porn and a hooker?"

"He may suck at relationships, but I can't disagree with his insight into people. Or his methodology: I've been ignoring the underlying cause and trying to tell myself I could fix it treating symptoms."

"So now our relationship is some—pathology you can treat?" she demands. It's her turn to laugh: like his, it's humorless. "And I used to think Foreman would be the one who turned out like House."

There's too much he respects in the man for that to sting. He wants to tell her that when he's still not sure she wouldn't rather be with House instead, it shouldn't bother her a bit.

But incendiary remarks aren't what they need at this point.

"I'm not sure it was ever anything else," he says quietly. She's not the only one at fault; his problems are in the mix, too: in the beginning, he'd used her and let her use him for sex; later, he'd kept trying when it was obvious her investment in the relationship didn't match his; he'd let her cross lines without saying a word, just to keep her. "And I'm sorry, but I see now it's not going to work."

Her expression hardens. "Fine. You can come over tomorrow and empty your drawer." Then she turns on her heel and stalks out.

It says more than he wants to admit that there's just the one drawer to empty. House would say something about its being a metaphor for his role in her life—something to be used and put away out of sight. And he'd be right.

He stands there for ten, fifteen minutes; turns at the triple-beat of House's lopsided gait, not really unexpected.

"I'm not in the mood for mind games or social experiments."

Best to establish that from the onset.

"I just saw Cameron," House says. His tone is casual, but Chase isn't fooled: House doesn't do casual conversation. "Red with fury and black with running mascara. The 'woman scorned' look does not work for her."

"It's been two years," he says shortly. "I thought—maybe marriage would fix things, make it so I'd be sure what she wanted. And that would've been a mistake."

"True," House agrees. "They don't give you mind-reading powers at the wedding along with the crappy toaster and the fondue set."

He smirks a little. Anyone else would express sympathy for the end of the relationship: not House. And he's grateful. "I have no business marrying her if, two years in, I'm still not sure she wouldn't rather be sleeping with you."

"She wouldn't, if it helps," House says. "Triple-checked; completely sure."

"Thanks. But that's not the problem. The problem is I should've known that, because she should've been talking to me. And I should've seen that _was _a problem."

House's gaze is level; there's no mockery in it. "When you care about a person, it makes you stupid. When you are also having sex with that person, it makes you more stupid." A pause. "But you figured it out before that long walk down the aisle—fortunately, since you people don't believe in divorce. Although when you consider the savings in alimony—"

"I'm hardly a practicing Catholic anymore." He hasn't so much as been to Mass in over a year. Medicine has filled the need God failed to answer.

"Obviously: you were dating an atheist."

Another thing he's learnt is that going into issues of faith with House is an exercise in masochism. "Is there a reason you're here? Besides figuring out exactly how my relationship broke?"

"Just to observe you finally grew a spine to go with your brain," House says. "Nice." Then, "I need that in my department more than I need a surgeon. Taub can do my surgeries."

"You fired me," he points out. "Said I'd learned everything I could from you."

"Possibly an overstatement," House says with a shrug, "and my team sucks without someone to play left field."

"And you're asking me to come back instead of hiring that someone because…?"

"Because Cuddy's head would explode if I ran a second season of _Survivor: Fellows Edition_, and I don't want to get brain matter on this shirt. It's vintage. And because you're a good doctor I can say with confidence will never cause intradepartmental upheaval by putting a bullet through his head."

"I'll be sure to put that on my résumé," Chase says dryly, but nods assent. He's missed the variability and the challenge of diagnostics, and returning to his old position will counterbalance Cameron's exit from his life.

"Good. See you Monday."

He's out the door before Chase can answer.

This was a horrible day. He's still miserable. Still angry, at Cameron and at himself.

But House's particular brand of—he's not sure what, because 'support' isn't quite the right word—is enough that he feels marginally better.

**END.**


End file.
